Dreams
by Saoirse21
Summary: Set when Doyle was at large. Fearing for her sanity Emily goes to the one person she thinks will understand.


AN: This is my first "published" story, I hope you like it! This takes place a couple days after Doyle is killed. Also, I should note that flashbacks will be in italics.

Enjoy and suggestions are welcome!

Wearing only an old pair of running shorts and a scraggly t-shirt, Emily Prentiss finds herself on the doorstep of Aaron Hotchner's apartment at 4am.

It's funny though because she doesn't even really remember how she managed to get here.

It's been a couple weeks since she has come back from the dead, and she is still unable to sleep through the night. You would think that by now she would have gotten herself sorted and ready to move on with her life; I mean she is a Prentiss after all.

Or is she?

The fact that she is unable to distinguish herself from Lauren Reynolds and Emily Prentiss is kind of scary; it's almost like being an actor on a sitcom. I mean sure, each of them are different people but at the end of the day the actor is able to emerge as a separate individual from her character, and both "people" can be distinguished as two completely different beings.

Not this time. This time she feels like she is stuck in some sort of perverted limbo where the actor and the character are blended in such a way that the new hybrid bears no similarities to the two original people.

She feels stuck.

The one thing that ticked her off about not getting enough sleep was the fact that everyone around her started to notice. She herself was used to working crazy hours in the past so the lack of sleep really wasn't much of an issue. It was everything that followed.

The two weeks that she had been back at the BAU had been torturous. Out of those fourteen days, thirteen and a half of them were spent doing paper work (read: mountains of paperwork), being out of state in North Carolina and attempting to catch up with all of the work and cases that she had missed. Not being able to sleep at night forced her to have to take naps in janitors closet when she could get away (as the locker room was always busy with employees and cadets). She became irritable and moody, and the fact that her co-workers treated her like glass made her want to scream.

When the team needed to do some surveillance work on a gang involved in a series of hate crimes across North Carolina, Hotch had assigned JJ and Morgan, and Rossi and Reid to do the surveillance work while her and Hotch made sure that "all their bases were covered" and that "everything was running smoothly at the office". When the team decided to go out for drinks a couple of days ago they managed to have her sober by 11pm and holed up at Garcia's, who made sure that she ate, slept and watched when Garcia locked all of her doors, windows and turned on her alarm system. And whenever she stayed late at work there was always someone who would stay late with her because they "needed to finish some paperwork that they forgot about", or "needed to make sure that they finished their reports for the night", or her personal favorite, "needed to make sure that her computers felt the love before she headed home".

As much as she appreciated their efforts, she hated it.

So now, as she shivers on her boss's front porch she feels stuck, exhausted and ashamed.

Ashamed that it only took her a month to break, and ashamed that she had to send Declan into hiding and ashamed of what she had forced upon the plates of her colleagues. Her family.

_"You cannot escape, Lauren"._

You begin to shake as you remember those words being whispered in your ear before he stabbed you with the table leg, the pain white hot and searing through your stomach.

Those were the same words he whispered in your dreams, too.

_She was running, running away from the man chasing her through the crowded streets of Paris. Even though the streets seemed familiar with the bazaar and the morning markets she can't bring herself to remember what they are called. Running through the crowds she begins to realize that she isn't able to shake the footsteps that are chasing her, mocking her._

_"You cannot escape, Lauren"._

_The scenery changes now and she is inside an old warehouse in the outskirts of Paris. The warehouse is silent and she thanks the people upstairs for hiding her from him, if only for a brief period of time. A sniffle brings her attention to the ground, where a terrified Louise and Declan and tied up and gagged and staring fearfully at her and the gun in her hand._

_Gun in her hand?_

_She feels the heavy metal of her service pistol in her hands weighing down her forearms like an old friend. She is about to do a quick sweep of the room before she sets down her gun when she notices that she is not in control. In some sort of surreal out of body experience she watches herself load her pistol and aim it at Declan. Terrified and scared to the core she tries to pry the gun from the fingers of her doppelgänger, and when that doesn't work she tries to take her down and shove her out of the way. Thinking fast she does the next best thing and runs over to Declan to push him out of the way when to her horror her hands pass through his arms like a projected image would a chair. Frantic now she tries to think her way out of the cruel joke her life is playing on her right now. Killing the only people she saved, erasing the only good that came out of operation Valhalla._

_The only good that came out of Paris._

_BANG!_

_BANG!_

_The second she realizes that she is able she darts across the room to Declan and Louise. One look and she knows. Sinking to the ground next to Declan she frees him of his restraints and pulls him into her lap. Shakily she sweeps his baby-blonde hair out of his eyes, her vision blurred by the tears that are pouring down her cheeks. _

_"You can't escape, Lauren"_

_That's all she hears before two thick hands wrap around her neck and the world goes black._

She doesn't realize she is crying until she feels someone brushing tears away from her cheeks.

Looking up she meets the eyes of a very concerned Hotch.

Flushing with embarrassment at being caught crying by her superior, she begins to hide her face with her hand when she feels his hand close gently around her wrist, and another at the small of her back.

"Why don't you come inside for a bit?" Taking her small nod as a yes he steers her through the door and into the living room, where they sit on his worn leather couch. His heart breaks for her as he watches her try and reel in her emotions, to try and pull herself together. Tonight, he notices that this is a rare moment where her compartmentalization skills are no match for the horrors she has faced over the past couple of weeks.

"I hate this", Emily whispered brokenly as she brushed a hand through her dishevelled hair. She curls up on the couch and wraps her arms around her legs. "When I was working with Interpol I worked so many cases, some of them involving prostitution rings and mass murders of women and children…and…none of them got to me as much as this one has. Ever since he tried to kill me I haven't been able to eat or sleep properly. Why won't he just leave me alone?" Her voice cracks at the end and she clears her throat to try and dislodge the growing lump inside of it.

"Why won't he leave me alone?" She looks him in the eye, her haunted ones begging him to make this nightmare stop. When Hotch doesn't answer she looks at him helplessly and her eyes fill with tears.

Shifting closer to Emily on the couch, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. He feels her arms wrap around his neck and she buries her face in his chest.

"He can't hurt you anymore Em", Hotch murmured in her ear as he draws soothing circles on her back. He can feel her shaking, her tears soaking the collar of his shirt. Pulling her even closer he tucks her head under his chin.

"He can't hurt you anymore".


End file.
